“Thinking about the Dodge,” Gabriel said, glancing at it through the window. “I’ve let her go downhill. She’s never looked this bad.”
“Nothing a body shop can’t fix,” Sal responded. “A little compound and paint and she’ll look good as new. Man, you look at everything so pessimistically. If the way the car looks is getting you down, just invest a little cash and fix the problem. It’s not like you can’t make the money. What’ll it cost? Fifteen hundred? If you hustle, you can make that in less than three weeks.”
“Yeah … it’s just that I’m afraid to let the Dodge outta my sight. I made a vow that she would never be stolen again.”
“Not every fuckin’ person out there wants to steal your damned car, okay? Those were a coupla crazy drunk kids who are goddamn lucky they didn’t kill themselves on their joyride. If you ask me, I’d say you’re the luckiest fuck on earth you got your car back a week after it got pinched. Who else does that happen to? Know how many damned cars there are on Long Island alone?”
“I can’t risk it happening again,” Gabriel insisted. “I can’t let her outta my sight, ever.”
“Well then, do the work yourself. You’re a smart guy. Get a book and get busy. If you want, I’ll help ya. Or you could have Carlos down at Ann do the work and pay him under the table. Grease his Dominican palm. He can throw the Dodge in between his cab jobs. May be time to do something radical to that machine anyway. Carlos has got enough yellow paint in that garage to last two years. Nobody’ll miss it. Forget the blue and paint it yellow. I’m not kidding. It’ll really stand out and you’ll never have to worry about somebody stealing it.”
Sal lowered his head, ready to burst out laughing.
“That’s not fucking funny, Sal. I just want to keep my baby blue princess looking nice like you do your Caddy.”
“I know pal. Look, I’m sorry, but just take care of the fuckin’ problem already and stop talking about it. It irritates the shit out of me.”
He paused when the waitress brought their order, then continued his banter.
“But hey, I’m not kidding — yellow’s the perfect color. It’ll get everyone’s attention. Gets you fares on the street every day, don’t it?”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll stop talking about the car.”
Sal ate ravenously, eyeing the pretty women walking by on the sidewalk.
“Will you look at her,” he said. “Bet she’d be great in bed. Look at those legs. Ooh man, would I love to run my hands up those thighs.”
The woman who had momentarily hypnotized Sal wore a short plaid skirt, black stockings on her shapely legs and black boots that rose to just below her knees. As she passed by Carmine’s and noticed Sal and Gabe eyeing her through the window, she smiled and continued on even more confidently.
“Man, oh man,” said Sal, forgetting about his food, “wonder where she’s headed.” He paused. “Could you imagine the happiness of the man who gets to work with that beauty by his side all day? He’s probably humming to himself right now, just waiting to see what his goddess will wear today to tease the living crap out of him. Now you see, that’s where your mind should be focused — on getting laid — and not on that hunk of metal there.”
“You’re probably right,” admitted Gabriel.
“I’m righter than right. Way I see it, you’re one of the luckiest people I know. You’ve got brains, talent; you’re somewhat good looking …”
“Hey,” Gabriel objected.
“Well, you’ve got good looks and as I said before, you’re the only damned person I know who can get his car stolen one week and back the next. That doesn’t fuckin’ happen to anyone, except you.”
Gabriel drank his coffee, while Sal ranted on.
“Yeaup, you’ve always had luck. You just don’t see it. Take Mandy, for instance. I’m not saying that you’re not suffering, ‘cause I know you are. But how’d you feel if you were in Matt’s shoes. Imagine living with his pain. After all, he did date her for several years and he was with her on the day she vanished. His life must’ve been hell with the detectives wondering whether he’d had something to do with it. That would’ve driven me nuts. You should thank your lucky stars. Losing a car don’t mean shit; losing someone you love … Way I see it, you were spared by the man above.”
What Sal was saying made sense to Gabriel. He was a lucky guy because he got second chances. Gabriel’s rendezvous with Paul loomed even more important than it had earlier. Unlike Sal, Gabriel had a brother he was close to, who respected and loved him and always had. As he finished the last drops of his coffee, Gabriel vowed inwardly not to forget Sal’s words.
“Think I’ll go to my dad’s and tune up the Dodge in the street,” he said. “How long you working today?”
“Probably till three. Just need to make some dough to pay the phone bill and get groceries for a couple days. Rent ain’t due for two weeks. No sense in getting all tired out for nothing. Gotta pace myself or else I ain’t gonna be doin’ this for very long.”
Gabriel admired Sal’s attitude toward cab driving and wished he could adopt it himself. But the people at Ann were stricter about schedules and what had happened the day before was certainly an aberration.
“Well, I gotta go make some dough,” Sal said. He stood up, stretched and searched for money to pay the bill.
“Let me get this one,” Gabriel said. “I owe you for saving my ass this morning.”
Sal grinned. “Next one’s on me. See ya later.”
He got into his Checker, picked up a fare halfway down the block and blended into the early morning traffic; meanwhile, Gabriel paid for breakfast, left a generous tip, fired up the Dodge and headed for Astoria. He felt relieved cruising through the city streets without having to look for passengers. He made a right down 23rd Street, got on the FDR Drive uptown to the Queensboro Bridge and in twenty-five minutes was parked in front of his father’s apartment on 29th.
CHAPTER 11
After taking his first fare to Columbus Circle and doing a few short runs on the Upper West Side, Sal got a ride to Lexington and 53rd. He snaked across Central Park at 86th, dropped off his passenger, swung over to Park and pulled into the Waldorf line. His mind churned with thoughts about Gabriel’s distress over Mandy. He didn’t understand Gabriel’s intense emotions — why he made himself sick thinking about the past, about a girl who’d barely touched his life, about circumstances he couldn’t change. Gabriel’s thoughts often wandered into irrational, perplexing pathways; his obsession with the Dodge, for example. Sal couldn’t stomach his friend’s romanticized flights of fancy. He wanted to help him but didn’t know how.
Fuck the past, he thought. What good does it fucking do to keep dwelling on it? To keep your head buried like a dumb ostrich in that dead sand.
His conversation with Gabriel had stirred his own cauldron of childhood emotions. He thought of his brother Jacob. All Sal ever wanted was to be like him. He thought being a good fighter would impress Jacob. But he didn’t know that his brother hated being a Hell’s Demon and he didn’t want Sal to become a thug like him, to make his way in the world using his fists. But it was not something he could just walk away from — gang members knew the gang’s secrets, its unwritten rules and ways of maneuvering (things rival gangs and the police must never learn); they lived by the motto “Don’t even try, because you’ll die.” It would take courage to walk away, which Jacob didn’t have then.
He had wanted something better for Sal than the shit he was mired in, wanted Sal to do well in school, stay out of trouble, respect his parents and sisters — be what Jacob wasn’t. And the more Sal acted like him, the angrier Jacob became and the more he beat Sal.
Sal stepped out of his Checker for air. He wished he’d pounded that garbage truck driver’s guts that morning. He strolled toward a group of cabbies huddled in conversation by the Waldorf’s doors, but what he heard spewing from their mouths was the typical, daily bullshit complaints, so he got back in his cab and tried to read the paper. His min
d wandered again but luckily, the line began to move and soon he was taking an elderly couple to LaGuardia. After dropping them off, the dispatcher called to ask if he’d be interested in picking up a fare from Kennedy. It was a forty-dollar ride. Since he didn’t feel like waiting on the LaGuardia line, Sal said yes and got on the Grand Central.
His fare waited in front of the American terminal, clutching a large black case to his chest, watching the road with intense blue eyes behind his silver-framed glasses.
“Mr. Bernstein?”
Bernstein nodded and hopped in. He sat back and placed his case on the floor between his legs. “Forty dollars tip and all to Forty-ninth between Fifth and Sixth, correct?”
“Yeaup,” Sal said. “You’re on the Checker Express. Forty-five minutes to Midtown, tops, unless there’s an accident. I take the 59th, unless you’d prefer the Triboro, sir.”
“Your call, son. I’m not in a rush. Drop me in front of Bernstein’s Jewelers.”
Sal glanced back at the black case at Bernstein’s feet. Probably thousands in gold, diamonds and precious stones in there.
“The 59th it is then, Mr. Bernstein. Wish I could offer you a drink, but we don’t come equipped like limos.”
“It’s okay, son, ah, James,” said Bernstein, as he glanced at Sal’s cab license by the meter. “If I wanted a limo, I would’ve gotten one. But I cannot see paying two hundred dollars for a hard drink and a smooth ride. Though this back seat is not comfortable, as long as you don’t hit every pothole, I should be fine.”
Sal laughed and some of his gloom lifted. He enjoyed being around prosperous people and looked for any tidbit of their success that he could apply to his own life.
“That’s a lot of dough for a whiskey and a comfy seat. I’ll do my best to keep the ship steady. This Checker’s a tank.”
Bernstein sat back, took off his glasses and closed his eyes while Sal maneuvered through the ample Grand Central lanes toward the Hoyt Avenue exit. There was little traffic on 31st Street and Sal made good time cruising through Astoria. However, just before reaching Queensboro Plaza, the noon traffic intensified and Sal’s patience waned. It looked like there’d be an hour tie up ahead. Bernstein still dozed as Sal inched at a caterpillar’s pace toward the bridge, while horns blared, brakes squealed and passing overhead trains shook his Checker’s frame. There wasn’t a cop anywhere to help ease the gridlock.
Where the hell are those fuckers when you need them? Sal wondered, realizing he wouldn’t be able to keep his “forty-five minutes, tops” promise to Bernstein.
As he crawled toward 39th Avenue and St. Patrick’s, his gloomy thoughts about Jacob returned. But then, unexpectedly, like Bernadette’s vision of the Blessed Virgin at Lourdes, Sister Beatrice’s face flashed in Sal’s mind like a Raphael Madonna painting, and he felt an instant inner peace that dispelled his rage like soothing summer air blowing on his body and animating his spirit.
For the moment, he forgot the traffic and inched on as if on autopilot, without a care in the world. He thought of Sister Beatrice’s selflessness, her devotion to Christ and boundless ability to love that had amazed Sal back in middle school. Somehow, she had helped him see that the best way forward was to soften, not harden his heart.
Sal remembered that day in eighth grade when Sister Beatrice had walked him home to talk to his parents about his bruises; she had told him funny stories about the convent cat that made him laugh and he had tried to impress her with his best Freddie Prinze imitation. Soon, feeling relaxed, Sal asked her why she’d become a nun. Sister told him that after her father’s funeral, she’d seen him in a dream and he’d told her he was fine and to look after her mother. Remember Beatrice Ann, the more love shared, the better. Those words never left her.
From that day forward, she felt that God had summoned her to his service. She received her master’s in American Literature at Queens College; not long after, she became a nun and chose to teach middle school English. As Sal listened, he was moved. On that five-block walk, Sister Beatrice became a close friend and once she’d opened up, Sal found it easier to speak of his explosive relationship with Jacob.
Sister waited with Sal over an hour for his father to arrive from work and they discussed The Outsiders, which they’d been reading in class. Sal’s father, Rodolfo, invited Sister to dinner and she gladly accepted. After his mother Antonia arrived, they ate and then conversed for two hours about finding a way to quell the hostility between the brothers. For the remainder of the school year, things improved at home. Sal’s parents urged Jacob to leave Sal alone and for several months he did, but later that summer and especially when Sal started fighting daily at LIC, Jacob’s hostility returned and the beatings resumed.
Though he wasn’t much into novels, Sal worked hard the remainder of eighth grade because he didn’t want to disappoint Sister, and he scored a ninety-five on his English final. He recalled how proud Sister was when she handed back his test, how jubilant her smile as she uttered, “Excellent work, Sal. Your essay was exceptional.” That comment alone had lifted Sal into the stratosphere; for days, he had brimmed with confidence, felt appreciated, loved and energized by her validation.
Sal reached the bridge and traffic finally flowed smoothly into Manhattan. The more he thought of Sister, the more he wanted to do a kindness in her memory. As he cruised on Second Avenue toward 49th, he decided he’d do something special for his passenger, in Sister’s honor.
When Bernstein awakened from his slumber, Sal was immediately apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bernstein, for getting stuck in that horrendous traffic. I shouldn’t have come this way … so, this ride’s on me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, James,” Bernstein said. “It’s not your fault. And I’m in no hurry, really. Besides, that was the best sleep I’ve gotten in days.”
“It’s how I do business, sir. This one’s on me. I insist. It’ll mean a lot to me today.”
As these words flowed out of Sal, like Sister’s love toward him had, years earlier, he felt better and he knew that if Sister were near, she’d smile. This was how he’d celebrate her memory today — by doing a kindness that involved sacrifice, giving a gift without expectation. Though he needed money, Sal loved being generous. He and Gabriel were alike in this way; it was one of the reasons they got along so well. Julia might see Sal’s behavior as irresponsible because there were many bills to pay, but on this particular morning, Sal needed to give a free ride to this man. He didn’t want anything back.
“Tell you what, James,” Bernstein said, as they approached his jewelry shop. “I’ll take this ride for free if you promise to be my chauffer the following three weeks, and I’ll set the price and tip depending on the quality of each ride. How’s that sound? Think you’ll be available during this busy time?”
“Yes, of course I’ll make time for you, Mr. Bernstein. I set my own work schedule so call anytime you need me.”
“It’s a deal then.”
Sal pulled in front of Bernstein’s Jewelers, shook Bernstein’s hand firmly and the two waved goodbye. No sooner had Bernstein exited than another local jeweler, headed to Kennedy, jumped in.
“Sure thing, sir,” Sal said when he heard his destination. “I’ll take the tunnel. Forty-five minutes, tops,” he added and smiled broadly. He sensed Sister Beatrice was near.
CHAPTER 12
At six forty-five that evening, Paul pulled the Dodge into a parking spot in front of the Parthenon, a brightly lit and elaborately decorated Greek restaurant on the corner of 30th and Broadway in Astoria. Gabriel loved the friendly atmosphere, loud voices and gregarious people who congregated to discuss the politics, business and fashions of their beloved, faraway Greece. The familiar Doric columns, like those of the original temple, were a sign of welcome as was the voice of Cosmo, the balding middle-aged owner who knew his regular customers by their first names. Since it was early, Cosmo was not yet busy and stood by the door to direct his guests to their favorite niches.
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“And a good welcome to you, Mr. Paulo and Mr. Gabrio,” said Cosmo, as the two young men entered. “It is a beautiful evening to dine out.”
“Yes it is, Cosmo,” Paul replied. “My brother’s treat tonight.”
“He’s the one with the big wallet, yes?” inquired Cosmo with a friendly chuckle.
“Yeaup,” said Paul, turning toward Gabriel. “And he loves your super special gyro plates.”
“Very good, very good. And where will you like to seat?”
“Over there.” Paul pointed toward a little alcove by Athena’s statue. “My brother loves that bronze lady.”
“And a good choice, sirs. She’s my favorite,” said Cosmo proudly. “The most beautiful goddess in Greece. Seating by her brings luck. She’s given me everything. This is her temple.” Cosmo fanned the air with both hands toward the walls as he led them toward his lucky goddess.
As the waiter filled their glasses with water, Paul motioned toward a statue of Zeus hurling a thunderbolt at the opposite end of the restaurant. “Hey, when are we gonna seat by Zeus over there? One of these days he’s gonna get mighty jealous.”
“Tough on him,” replied Gabriel. “I’m partial to seating by Athena. She’s my ideal woman — bright and beautiful. And besides, this is her temple, not his.”
“Suit yourself, but beware. He’s the big god you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s what they say.” Paul ran a careless hand through shoulder-length black hair that arched like the top of a heart and sloped down to just below his high cheek bones — David Cassidy style. You’d never know from his devilish charm that he’d once been encouraged to enter the priesthood, but he was too swayed by girls to devote his life to prayer and chastity. Like Gabriel, Paul fell in love often and easily.
“So how’d I do today?” he asked.
“Not too shabby. Your parking’s great. And in traffic you held your own and didn’t let anyone push you around.”
Paint It Yellow Page 6
